It was October 26, 1990, a date that remains etched in my family’s memory. I was not there when it happened. I was staying at my uncle’s house in Coimbatore and going to school from there. Everything I know about that night is through the words of my mother and father, pieced together like a story that has been told many times but still carries the same weight every single time. That day was like any other. No warnings, no dark clouds, just a quiet day near the banks of the Siruvani river. My parents were at home, a small thatched roof house nestled close to the water. It had not rained heavily, nothing unusual, just the kind of drizzle that one hardly pays attention to.

Around 10 in the night, my mother heard the sound of water rushing past and woke my father. He stepped out with the light of a petromax lamp as we did not have electricity back then to check the water level in the the river. It was higher than usual but still looked safe. They went back to bed. A couple of hours later, around midnight, my mother woke up again. This time, she said it was the sound of boulders being dragged through the water. Maybe it was fear, maybe instinct, but she felt something was wrong. She woke up my father again.

The moment he opened the door, water rushed into the house. The river was overflowing. There was no way to escape through the front, as the river had already swallowed the path. The only option was to climb out through a window and head up the hill behind the house. They quickly woke up the nearby worker’s family who lived close by and told them to escape too. My mother waited near the cardamom plantation, drenched in cold rain and shivering in the pitch dark. Suddenly, she felt a presence beside her. It was our pet dog, Jacky. She had no idea how he managed to escape the house. For a moment, she even thought it was a wild animal. But Jacky was there, silently standing beside her in the dark.

My father climbed up the hill to the closest neighbor’s (Sunny chettan) house. He came down with a torch to help them. They left the petromax lamp glowing inside the house and escaped into the darkness, wet and cold. The next morning, my father and Sunny chettan walked down to check what was left of the house. There was no house anymore. The river had taken it all. Everything was gone. The clothes, money, documents, gold, a big tape recorder, torch, cardamom, memories and so on… all washed away in a single night. And yet, what remained was surprising.

• One basket full of eggs. Not a single one broken.
• One gold bangle, found tangled in a bamboo.
• A sari, pulled from the debris.
• One hen.
• One horlicks bottle and a bournvita bottle.
• Muram (winnowing basket) – A kind soul cleaned it and returned it to us.

There were no phones or social media back then. Just kind neighbors who showed up when it mattered the most. Two of them (Plathottathil Sunny chettan and Palathingal Madhu cheetan), swam across the river the next day to check if we were safe. Another neighbor, Kaavipurayidathu Jose chettan, carried the news to my father’s elder brother since we did not have landlines or mobile phones. Back then, every piece of news had to travel from one person to another. My father’s brother, Maatha Pappan (P.M. Mathew), came as soon as he heard and brought clothes for my parents. Rajamma chechi, who worked for us, turned up the next morning unaware of what had happened. She was the one who picked up the sari from the debris, cleaned it, and gave it to my mother, so she had something to wear that day.

My mother’s brother (Jose Karottupulolil) came. So did my father’s brother (Jhonny Mathew) from our native place. Benny chettan, my dad’s good friend, fondly known as Kalkandi Benny or Mulaku Benny ran a small textile shop in Kalkandi, Attapady. He kindly brought fresh clothes for both my mum and dad after the flood. My mother even remembers making omelette from the eggs that survived, serving them to those who came to visit.

Looking back, my mother says she was not scared. She believes it was God who woke her up that night. That quiet nudge, that inner voice. We lost everything that night, but somehow, we had enough. And more than anything, I am proud of the strength my parents showed that night and in all the days that followed. The struggles they went through are something I can only imagine. But I know this, if I am here today, it is because of them. I owe my life to their courage, resilience, and faith.

Sometimes life does not come with a warning. It arrives in silence, in the dark, and takes away what you thought was permanent. But even in those moments, what stays back is the warmth of people, the strength of instinct, and the quiet miracles that remind you to carry on. In the end, it is not about what you lose. It is about who stands beside you, even in the dark.

We have had growth since that day. We have gained more than we lost. God has been kind. Sometimes I think what if I had lost both my parents at that young age? Who would have taken care of me? It is a thought that chills me even now. But I am here, and they are here, because something greater was watching over us that night.

As I reflect on this story that shaped my family, I am left with a few questions that may speak to you too:

• Have you ever experienced a moment that changed everything without warning? What did it teach you about strength and grace?
• When life swept things away, what stayed with you?
• What stories do your parents or grandparents carry that shaped who you are today?
• Have you ever felt protected by something bigger than you, a quiet nudge, a gut feeling, or a timely voice?